


now when did you last let your heart decide

by daisylincs



Series: Spideychelle Week 2020 [3]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: (sort of), Aladdin AU, Alternate Universe - Aladdin (Disney Movies) Fusion, Arranged Marriage, Awkwardness, F/M, Fairytale ending, Happy Ending, Lily's Spideychelle Week 2020, Romance, Snark, Spideychelle Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24980566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisylincs/pseuds/daisylincs
Summary: Peter Parker is a nobody, just another street rat in the endless city of Agrabah - an unusually quick and agile street rat who makes a habit of helping everyone worse off than himself, yes, but still just a street rat.Princess Michelle, on the other hand, issomebody- but she’s trapped in the gilded cage of the palace, forced to choose a hero to marry so Agrabah can be safe.Just a few days later, though, a chance meeting in the city, a visit from superhero and billionaire Tony Stark, and a red-and-blue suit throws the two of them into a whole new world.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Spideychelle Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796671
Comments: 14
Kudos: 40
Collections: Spideychelle Week 2020





	now when did you last let your heart decide

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! So, day 3 - fairytale retelling! I have to admit, I’ve never really been a fan of that trope (the only place I really enjoy it is on Once Upon A Time, but that show is _brilliant.)_
> 
> Then the other day, right after I finished watching the 2019 Aladdin for the fifth time, I had the brainwave. What if, instead of rewriting one of those traditional fairy tales I really don’t like all that much, I made an Aladdin AU? 
> 
> Well, the idea took a hold of me immediately, and I could _not_ let go of it. Does Aladdin even count as a fairytale? I have no idea, I just know that I REALLY wanted to do a Spideychelle Aladdin AU.
> 
> A special shoutout to my amazing friend Bobbi, who has been the actual, literal _best_ in encouraging me to write this thing. You’re just such a wonderful and supportive friend and I LOVE YOU SO MUCH 😍😍😍🤗🤗🤗💖💖💖
> 
> Despite this taking me so long to write, in the end it turned out that the prompt I was expecting to enjoy the least actually became my favourite of all the days I’ve written! I really hope you guys like it too 🤗

_here comes a wave meant to wash me away, a tide that is taking me under_

Michelle winced as Betty tugged on the laces of her dress, tightening the silky green fabric an almost uncomfortable amount around her bodice. “If his Magical Superhero-ness doesn’t like this,” her handmaiden said, “then he doesn’t have eyes in his head.”

“That,” Michelle said drily, “is precisely the problem.”

Betty shook her head at Michelle in the mirror. “You have to be a unique case,” she said, adding the last jade-coloured gem to the complicated updo in her hair. “A strong, handsome superhero wants to marry you, and you wish you were anywhere else?”

Michelle sighed as she stood up, brushing herself off, and took in her reflection. She looked every bit like the princess waiting to be swept off her feet, and dammit, she hated every moment of it.

She didn’t want to be swept off her feet. She liked her feet right where they were, though preferably not in these ridiculous jewel-encrusted slippers.

“I just wish I didn’t have to be paraded around like I’m some kind of trophy to be won,” she told Betty, straightening the golden tiara on her head. “Like my only worth is who I’ll end up marrying, and how many children I can give them while they rule over my people.” 

Betty pointed the comb at Michelle. “You’d rather rule Agrabah yourself, then?” 

Michelle threw up her hands. “I just don’t see why it’s so crazy! I grew up here, and I’ve lived here my entire life. Who knows these people, and their needs, better than I do? How can some hot-shot superhero, who’s lived his entire life somewhere else and only cares about the size of his muscles, rule my country better than I can?” 

Betty shook her head, and Michelle knew that her handmaiden didn’t _get_ it. She was happy and felt privileged in her position in the royal household, and while a part of Michelle really, deeply understood that, another part raged at her for being so complacent. How could Betty just let these ancient laws walk all over them like that?

“Come on,” Betty said gently, tugging at Michelle’s arm, “it’s time to go.”

Michelle closed her eyes and breathed in, then let it out through her nose. “All right,” she said, though every word was bitter on her tongue.

She made her way down the golden corridors of the palace, Betty by her side, and discourse raging in her mind. This would be the fifth superhero her father had officially invited in less than two weeks, and all because Michelle’s birthday was coming up.

Because, of course, a princess of Agrabah had to be married by her eighteenth birthday, married to a superhero so the realm would be secure.

Michelle clenched her fists as she reached the large gold doors. The very idea revolted her - what was to say _she,_ the princess, couldn’t keep her home secure? Surely words were far more effective a weapon than _muscles?_

The doors swung open dramatically, jolting Michelle from her thoughts. Right. It was time to play princess bride.

Slowly, with Betty always a few steps behind, she descended down the stairs, letting her silken skirt flow out behind her like a trail of jade-coloured fire. The jewels at her throat and in her ears glittered in the light from the large bay windows, and what with the crown on her head and the corona of light playing around her, Michelle knew she had to look like an angel descending from high.

It was dramatic, it was stunning, and Michelle hated every moment of it.

The latest superhero was quiet with awe as he watched her walk down to him, only remembering himself when she reached the bottom of the stairs and arched her eyebrows expectantly.

He bowed, quick and low, looking up at her with undisguised admiration. “Why did nobody tell me of your beauty, Your Highness?” 

Michelle’s elegant curtsey barely hid the twist of her lips. “Why did nobody tell me of yours?” she asked, sharp and sarcastic.

The superhero, Brad the Brilliant or something equally preposterous, missed the sarcasm like it was a stop sign and preened under her supposed admiration. “Why, thank you, Your Highness,” he said with a dazzlingly white smile. “They actually say that all the time, where I’m from.” 

“Oh, yes, absolutely,” the lackey on his left said, obviously catching on. “Yes, sir. You’re, uh, very beautiful. Everyone says it.” 

“There, you see?” Brad the Insufferable - a much more apt title, Michelle thought wryly - said, turning to her with a grin he obviously thought was charming.

Already very tired of this, Michelle said, “Yes, indeed, I see. We are equal in rank, and yet we are never described the same way.” 

There was an awkward silence in the court, and Brad the Insufferable’s far-too-white smile shrunk slowly away.

“My daughter,” her father said, cutting in before things got irreparably bad for him, “is absolutely delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr Brilliant. She will, however, be taking her repose now, as she has been feeling somewhat unwell as of late.” 

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Michelle dipped the superhero another barely-there curtsey and exited the room.

As soon as they were out of Brad’s earshot, her father caught her by the arm and glared thunderously down at her. _“Michelle,”_ he scolded in that voice he used when he was at the very end of his patience, “what was _that?”_

“I’m sorry, Father,” she said, dropping her gaze to the carpet so he wouldn’t see the turmoil roiling in her gaze. “I just think -” 

“No!” her father exploded, cutting her off mid-sentence. She took a step back at the sheer, frustrated anger in his gaze. “I’ve had _enough_ of your thinking, daughter. Your duty is to marry a superhero so our realm can be safe, not to go about getting ideas in your head about changing the customs that we have honoured for thousands of years.” 

“But -” she began.

“No buts,” her father said sharply. “Do you understand me, daughter? I don’t want any more of this _thinking_ business.” He took a step forward, locking his angry gaze with hers. “When your next suitor arrives, you will do your duty to the realm.” 

Michelle stared into her father’s gaze, drawing on every reservoir of strength she had, but it was like trying to stop the tide from drawing in. Ancient, implacable, and unstoppable.

She wrenched her gaze away, feeling frustrated tears prickle at her eyelids. The dismissal stung enough in itself, but that it was given by her _father?_ The person she loved and respected the most? That hurt beyond any measure she had experienced before.

“Good,” her father said curtly, and she heard him turn and leave, his footsteps echoing down the corridor, fainter and fainter until only the slightest whisper remained.

Michelle stayed where she was, tears of helpless anger and frustration stinging her cheeks. Silenced again, left with nothing to say - her voice drowned out in the thunder.

 _But I won’t cry,_ she told herself fiercely, brushing the back of her hand resolutely across her cheeks. _And I won’t start to crumble._

She kept her hand on her cheek, feeling the cold of the tears slowly eclipsed by the growing warmth as anger flooded her body. How dare they try to cut her down like this? She was a princess, and she was a woman, and she had _worth._

She would _not_ let herself be swallowed in the sand. 

She would show them all.

_one swing ahead of the sword_

Peter leapt from the roof of the old stone tower to the side of the building next to it, barely catching on to the tiny windowsill before flinging himself onto the next roof. He landed lightly, backflipping over the dodgy board, and dropped down onto the street below, feeling pleased with himself as she surveyed the marketplace.

Today had been a good day. First, he had helped this sweet old lady who had gotten stuck on the roof of one of the buildings, and she had been so grateful that she had given him a churro - which wasn’t something he had ever tasted before, but it was so good that he was sure it would be a hit all across Agrabah in no time. (The lady gave him another churro after he said that.)

Next, he had nicked a piece of bread from Delmar’s Deli without being noticed, and shared it out for the little street kids on the corner of Jordan Street. 

And finally, just two seconds ago, he had seen the most beautiful girl in the whole realm.

She was making her way through the marketplace with a little smile on her face, looking at all the people cheerfully greeting each other and bartering for wares, and though she was wrapped in a flowy white veil-scarf, the little Peter could see of her was enough that he could tell she was absolutely and breathtakingly stunning. 

She stopped at Jordan Street, a little frown flickering across her face as she saw the ragged little brother and sister. “Are you hungry?” she asked them softly.

If it wasn’t for his rather exceptional hearing, Peter would never have been able to hear the exchange from across the marketplace. But as it was, he caught the sister’s murmured “yes” as clearly as though she was standing next to him.

He felt his heart twinge. He tried to help them, he really did, but there was only so much he could sneak past Mr Delmar, and he had to think of himself and Ned, too.

The girl, meanwhile, had disappeared into Mr Delmar’s shop, coming out a second later with her arms full of bread. “Here you are,” she said, handing it to the ragged twosome.

Peter’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. What was she, crazy? How did she ever expect to get that much bread past Delmar?

Sure enough, the merchant’s angry bellow reached his ears mere seconds later. “THIEF!” Delmar yelled. “Dirty, lying, scabbery thief! I turn my back for one minute, and this one -” he jabbed his meaty fingers at the girl, who stepped back, looking affronted, “steals half of my best stock.” 

“Stealing?” the girl asked, surprised shock colouring her voice. “I wasn’t stealing!” 

“You’re going to pay, then?” Delmar demanded. “You have money?”

The girl looked flustered. “Well, I… that is, not here…” 

“Then I’ll take this pretty thing, then,” Delmar said, making a lunge for the elegant gold bracelet at her wrist.

The girl snatched it away, eyes blazing. “No!” 

“Then you’re a thief!” Delmar accused, and opened his mouth to yell for the guards.

Peter, who had been watching silently, saw his chance and jumped in. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, shooting Delmar his best disarming smile. “Let’s not be too hasty.” 

Delmar narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Peter. “You can keep your little street rat nose out of it, Parker. This is none of your business.” 

“No, actually, it is!” he argued, slinging his arm around the girl’s shoulders and ignoring the way she immediately tensed in his hold. “This is my cousin, and she’s new to the city.”

Delmar squinted. “Cousin, eh?” 

“Yeah,” Peter said, giving the girl’s shoulders a squeeze as if to say _play along._

Luckily, she got it, and relaxed fractionally against him, shooting Delmar a tense smile. 

“Well, all right,” Delmar said grudgingly. “You teach your cousin the ways of the city better, eh?” 

“Of course,” Peter promised, silently thanking his lucky stars that this actually worked.

“Uh-uh-uh,” Delmar said when they turned away, wagging his meaty fingers. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” 

Peter felt the girl tense up against him again. Playing it cool, both for her sake and the merchant’s, he asked, “Are we? What?” 

“The payment,” Delmar said with a greedy smile at the girl’s bracelet.

She tensed even more, shifting her wrist out of the merchant’s sight. 

Peter could see the impatience Delmar was infamous for filling his gaze, and he knew he had to act quickly. 

“Do you trust me?” he asked the girl quickly, turning to face her as he reached for her wrist.

She hesitated, and he felt as though time had slowed down to an infinite crawl, the bustle and noise of the marketplace fading into the background as she looked at him, lips slightly parted. 

Her eyes had little golden flecks in them, he noticed, and she really was unbelievably gorgeous.

Whatever she saw in his eyes, she seemed to like it, because she gave him a quick nod.

Time started up again. 

“Good,” he said, and tugged the bracelet off her wrist.

“Here you are,” he told Delmar casually, making sure to show him the bracelet very clearly right before he switched it with an apple, using movements too fast for normal eyes to follow, and dropped that into the merchant’s pocket.

The girl gasped in outrage as Delmar grinned, self-satisfied. Peter pulled at her arm, tugging her away right as she began to protest.

“That bracelet belonged to my mother!” she exclaimed. “And now you’ve gone and given it to that -” 

“You mean this bracelet?” he asked, cutting her off. With a quick flick of his wrist, he clipped the bracelet back onto her arm.

She gaped at him. “How did you…?” 

“I’m very quick,” he explained, flashing her a cheeky grin. “And sticky.” 

She shook her head at him, but there was a smile tugging at her lips. “Well, are you sure we won’t get in trouble?” 

“You’re only in trouble if you get caught,” he said with an even wider grin.

From somewhere behind them, Delmar gave an outraged bellow, the loudest he had given all day.

Peter winced. “Okay, we’re in trouble.” 

The girl glanced backwards, then at him, then backwards again very fast, and he could practically see her mind racing. “What do we do?” she asked.

He hesitated, looking her up and down, then pointed down the nearest side-street. “Go down there, turn left at the second alley, right at the red door, and jump onto the roof. I’ll meet you there.” 

“Wait, did you just say jump onto the -” she began, but he cut her off by pushing her down the street. “Just go!” 

Once she had disappeared around the corner, he skipped nimbly onto an overturned wagon, calling, “hey, guys, looking for me?” 

The five city guards who had rushed over when Delmar called saw him and roared. “Over there!” 

Peter gave them a cheeky little wave and scampered up the side of the nearest building, using hand- and footholds so small they were barely visible. “Keep up!” he called as the goons stood staring up at him, dismayed.

He needed a proper distraction so the girl could reach the roof, so he tugged up his sleeves and prepared his secret weapon. 

The webs.

He and Ned had been working on this for ages, since the day a mixture of spices they had accidentally thrown together turned into something so incredibly strong and stretchy. And now that they had finally found the right ingredients again, well, suffice it to say these goons were never going to catch Peter again.

He led them on a merry dance through the city, swinging and parkouring off buildings and through windows while they cursed and sweated on the streets below. It was extremely funny, and he always managed to stay one jump ahead. 

When the countdown in his head reached zero, he stopped on the edge of a roof, waving down at the guards below. “This has been fun,” he said, “but I’ve got someplace to be.” 

Doing a backflip just to show off, he launched himself off the roof and onto a canopy beneath it, bouncing off onto the next canopy and then landing lightly on the street. He skipped a little as he walked back to the side alley where he had told the girl to wait for him, a smile already pulling at his lips when he saw her silhouetted against the skyline, looking out over the city.

“Manage the jump alright?” he asked her, dropping lightly down onto the roof next to her.

She started, whirling violently around, but relaxed when she saw it was him. “Oh, uh, yeah, thanks. It was a lot lower than you made it sound.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, joining her to look out over the city. 

She was fiddling with her bracelet, he noticed, tugging and twisting at it with a little frown on her face as though she was trying to figure out how to say something. “So, uh,” she said after a moment, looking up to meet his eyes, “I wanted to thank you. For helping me out like that.”

Peter shrugged one shoulder, feeling a blush creeping up his neck. She really was very pretty. “Um, yeah, it’s no problem,” he said awkwardly. “Helping people is kind of what I do.”

She smiled, but there was a bitter twist to it. “Like a superhero?”

“No, no,” he said, blushing harder than ever. “All I do is nick some bread every other day to give to the Jordan kids, and help out when I can see someone is in trouble.”

The girl gave him a slightly wistful smile, and he sort of wished he could sit down and hear the story behind that smile. Behind every one of her smiles, really, not that he had seen many of them.

“That _does_ sound like a superhero,” she said, and he couldn’t quite define the tone of her voice. Wistful, maybe, like her smile? Or ironic? 

This girl was almost as mysterious as she was beautiful. 

“So, uh, miss -” he began, trailing off as he realised he didn’t have her name.  
“MJ,” she said quickly. “My name is MJ.”

“MJ,” he said, tipping his head to look at her. “I’m Peter. I’ve never seen you around before - what’s your story?”

The girl - MJ - shifted from foot to foot, not meeting his eyes. “Well,” she said slowly, drawing out the word, “I’m from the palace.” She hesitated, as though unsure of how to go on.

“Like a handmaiden?” Peter asked curiously. 

Something almost like relief flitted across her face. “Yes,” she agreed, shooting him a small smile. “A handmaiden.”

“Do you know the princess?” he asked, because he couldn’t help himself. Imagine if she knew the princess!

A wry smile tugged at MJ’s lips. “I do,” she said slowly. “I do know the princess.”

“Well, what can you tell me about her?” he asked eagerly. Everyone in Agrabah knew stories about their princess, and Peter was already imagining the look on Ned’s face when he confirmed some of them because he had talked to someone from the palace. 

MJ tipped her head as though she was considering what to say. “The princess,” she offered at last, “loves the people very much.”

“They love her too,” Peter told her, and something like pride flickered across her face. “We just wish she would show herself more. I mean, we only get to see her once or twice a year on festival days, and on the balcony when a new superhero comes to court her. But she’s always so kind, and everyone in the city loves her.”

MJ’s face was a confusing mix of emotions. Pride, regret, irony, frustration - all he knew for sure was that she wore them very well. 

“Her father,” she said after a long pause in which she was clearly thinking of a proper answer, her features conflicted, “has been a different man since the queen’s death. He doesn’t let her go outside, and all he wants is for her to marry a superhero so that she and the realm can be safe.”

There was a surprising amount of bitterness in her tone, almost as though _she_ was the one who was being forced to marry when she didn’t want to. 

He was opening his mouth to reply when he heard a shout from behind them. “There! There is the thieving street rat and his no-good cousin.”

Peter and MJ whirled around simultaneously to see Delmar standing in the entrance of the alley, brandishing a piece of bread as though it was a weapon. 

And behind him stood a full platoon of guards, complete with - to Peter’s absolute horror - a superhero in red armour. 

Peter looked around them and cursed. Even with his webs, there was no way he could outrun a superhero. 

The girl seemed to have come to the same conclusion, her eyes flicking around the alley and the surrounding roofs before settling back on the guards and the superhero. Her eyes narrowed, determination turning her gaze to steel, and she took a step forward. 

“Stop,” she said, so commanding that Peter, who had been reaching out to yank her back, froze where he stood.

The girl drew her scarf over her head, revealing the golden tiara glittering in her hair. “Stop,” she repeated, “in the name of the princess.”

The guards all stopped where they stood, and Peter took a step back, reeling.

MJ was the _princess?_ But… but how was that possible? 

“Well, well,” the superhero in red said in a bored voice. “You are a long way away from the palace, Your Highness.”

Delmar saw his chance and stepped forward, brandishing the bread again. “It’s because _he,”_ he cried dramatically, “kidnapped her!”

The effect on the guards was immediate. They surged forward, drawing their swords, expressions of outrage blazing on their faces.

“Alright, alright,” the superhero in red said, taking a step forward and waving his hand dismissively at the guards. Peter had to admire the way they all, Delmar included, stood aside immediately.

Obviously, this superhero commanded a lot of respect, and did it while wearing an artfully bored air that practically screamed _I’m better than you._

“I’ll handle this,” the superhero said, looking Peter up and down with an unreadable expression. “Jamal? Take the princess back to the palace.”

“I am not a pawn to be moved around as you please,” MJ – if that was even her name – interjected, her eyes blazing. “And this man did _not_ kidnap me, he saved my life.”

The superhero gave her a look of something that was almost respect, even though it was still coated in that bored arrogance Peter guessed was his trademark. “Let me rephrase, Your Highness. _Please_ return to the palace, and maybe your father’s wrath can be avoided.”

MJ deflated immediately, letting the guards take her arms and lead her away – but she turned to look back at Peter once, biting her lip.

“Please,” she told the superhero. “This man isn’t a criminal. He –“

“- stole my bread and must be punished!” Delmar interrupted irately.

The red superhero gave him a look so scornful that Delmar shrank back immediately, muttering apologies. “Your Highness,” he said calmly, “I can promise you that the situation is under control.”

He gave his head a quick jerk, and the guards led MJ out of the alley. At a look from the superhero, Delmar slunk away, too.

“Sir,” Peter began, raising his hands slowly, “I promise I can explain.”

“Don’t bother,” the superhero said, waving his hand in that dismissive way he had. “You’re coming with me to my private carriages.”

Before Peter’s eyes could finish widening, he turned away.

“Oh,” the superhero added over his shoulder, almost casually, “and you don’t have to call me sir. My name is Tony Stark.”

_you ain’t never had a friend like me_

The superhero – Mr Stark – took Peter back to his private carriage, though carriage was something of an understatement. This place was more like a mansion on wheels!

Looking around him, Peter felt as though his boyhood wish had been granted – from the patterned gold exterior of the carriage itself to the sumptuous leather interior to the bejewelled lamps scattered decoratively around, he had never seen so much riches in his life.

“Sit down, kid,” Mr Stark told him when he was finished taking it all in. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Peter swallowed. “We… we do?”

“Yes, we do,” Mr Stark confirmed. “Such as your activities in this city, for a start.”

Peter blanched. “Sir, I swear I don’t steal that much, it’s just a few crusts every other week to feed my family and the kids on -”

“Kid,” Mr Stark interrupted, holding up his hands. “If I had wanted to arrest you, I wouldn’t have brought you to my carriages first.”

Peter closed his mouth. That was a good point. 

“I’m talking about your _other_ activities,” Mr Stark explained. “The ones where you help people out of muggings, and pull the city guard’s attention away to help people in trouble.” He studied Peter, resting his head on his hands. “What’s your story, kid?”

Peter shifted, not meeting his gaze. “Well, uh, sir, I’m just another street rat in Agrabah.”

Mr Stark raised his eyebrows, highly unconvinced. “How many other street rats can move as fast as you can?” Without giving Peter a second to think about it, he snatched up one of the bejewelled lamps and chucked it at his head.

Peter caught it automatically, the little tingle on the back of his neck telling him exactly when to raise his hand.

Mr Stark spread his arms. “There, you see?”

Peter put the lamp carefully back on the table, rubbing off a speck of dust on its side. “Just because I can catch things doesn’t mean -”

“You have powers? Actually, kid, it does. I’ve been watching you, and there’s no way a street rat could do some of the things you’ve done.”

Peter's jaw dropped. “You’ve, uh, you’ve been watching me?” he asked stupidly. 

Mr Stark smiled. “I don’t know if you remember, but about three weeks ago, you helped out a red-haired woman who’s bag of spices had been stolen.”

Peter nodded. He could remember the scene quite well.

Mr Stark’s smile grew. “That woman was my wife. And when she got home, she told me something quite interesting - that there was no way you should have been able to hear her call out from across the square.”

“Well, I was intrigued. I was due to come to Agrabah for the annual peace talks, anyway, so I decided to pop in a few weeks early to see this wonderling for myself.”

Peter swallowed. “Wonderling?”

“Yeah, kid,” Mr Stark said. “You’re smart, you must be able to see that you’re far stronger and faster than you should be. After all, didn’t you stop a carriage from falling off a roof the other day?”

He had. 

“A _carriage,”_ Mr Stark repeated. “No ordinary street rat should have been able to stop one, let alone _catch_ it. So tell me, kid, what’s your deal?”

Peter knew he didn’t have any choice. Not only was it massively stupid to try and lie to a superhero, but Mr Stark also clearly knew a lot more about Peter than he had initially let on.

“I wasn’t always this way,” he admitted. “I don’t have parents, and when my aunt died, too, I fell into the streets. I met Ned, and we were just two street rats, just trying to get by. We were all each other had.”

“Then one day, I woke up with this bite mark on my wrist. And suddenly I could… do things. I was faster. Stronger. My senses were sharper. And I could sense stuff before it happened.”

Mr Stark _hmm_ -ed. “And then you started to use these powers of yours to help people around the city?”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, ducking his head under Mr Stark’s scrutiny.

“Why?” the superhero asked.

Peter blinked. “Ex… excuse me?”

“I said, why?” Mr Stark repeated. “Why do you do it?”

Peter chewed his lip, thinking about it. “If… if you can do the things that I can do,” he said at last, slowly, considering each word, “but you don’t do them, that’s when bad things happen.”

Mr Stark nodded. “So you want to… look out for the little guy, do your part, make the world a better place?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s it,” Peter said, relieved. 

“What if I told you,” Mr Stark said slowly, “that you could do more?”

Peter blinked. “More? How?”

“I told you I was here for the peace talks, and that’s true,” Mr Stark said. “But as you also know, Princess Michelle is looking for a husband. Specifically, a superhero husband.”

Peter shook his head slowly, not sure he was following. “But what does that have to do with me?”

“Well, think about it,” Mr Stark said, spreading his hands. “You liked her, right?”

Peter spluttered. “I didn’t… well, she was very pretty… but I barely know her… that’s not… I didn’t like her!”

Mr Stark gave him a flat look. “Kid, you liked her.”

Peter’s cheeks flushed. “Okay, yeah, I liked her.”

Mr Stark stood up, dusting himself off and flashing Peter a quick smile. “Then I have a solution that will suit us all! You get the chance to get to know your princess, and I get a firm alliance to cement the peace talks.”

“But… but…” Peter stammered. 

“As my ward,” Mr Stark cut him off, “if you and the princess were to get married, it would mean the threat of war between our two realms could be resolved forever. And Agrabah would have its superhero protector.”

“Superhero?” Peter spluttered. “But I’m not a…”

“Please, kid,” Mr Stark scoffed. “We’ve been over this. You’ve got the powers, all you need is the suit and the name.”

“You… you would do that, for me?” Peter asked, feeling as though he was living in some kind of dream. Or a wish. If Ned could see this…

“Sure, kid,” Mr Stark said. “Life is your restaurant, and I’m your maitre d’.”

“But why?” Out of everything, this was the most unbelievable for him. Why would Tony Stark, billionaire and superhero, choose to make _him,_ Peter Parker, his ward? When had the Parker luck turned on its head so much? 

“Well, as your people would say, Ali Baba had them forty thieves,” Mr Stark said. “You have me.”

When Peter continued to gape at him, stunned, he spread his arms. “You’ve got some power in your corner now; some heavy ammunition in your camp. I’ve told you what’s in this for me, now all you’ve got to do is say what it is _you_ wish.”

“I…” Peter began, then stopped to really think about it. 

MJ’s face floated into his mind, that wistful smile playing on her lips, and he remembered again how much he had wanted to hear the story behind it.

Well, now he had the chance to.

“As long as my friend Ned can come with,” Peter said slowly, “I’m in.”

Mr Stark grinned. “Deal.”

_make way, here he comes, ring bells, bang the drums_

Michelle sat on the windowsill of her bedchamber’s large bay window, absent-mindedly tugging at the bracelet on her wrist as she looked out over the palace grounds.

They were beautiful, but it didn’t compare with the view of the city she had seen just yesterday, with that street rat boy next to her.

Street rat. Ha. He was so much more than just that. 

Unlike every superhero who had ever set foot in the palace, Peter had seemed humble, honest, and shy in an endearing, awkward kind of way.

She had never met anyone quite like him - who helped people because he thought it was the right thing to do, even if it was someone he had never met before, and even though there was no gain in it for him.

“Still daydreaming about that street boy from yesterday?” Betty asked, jolting her from her thoughts.

Michelle shrugged her shoulders, keeping her gaze on the window. “He was just so… different,” she said, tilting her head as she watched a dove fly up into the blue sky. “Nothing like any of the superheroes I’ve met before.”

Betty arched her eyebrows at her. “Oh, so you’re comparing him to a superhero, now?”

“He helps people,” Michelle said, not quite sure why she was being so defensive. “Isn’t that what a superhero should do?”

Betty raised one shoulder as she continued to fold one of Michelle’s dresses. “Maybe,” she said. “But superheroes also need a name, a suit, and -”

“- an attitude,” Michelle finished sardonically. “Yes, I’m quite aware.”

Betty rolled her eyes. “I didn’t think Brad was so bad.”

“Yeah, but you’re not the one who’d have to put up with that smile of his for the rest of your life,” Michelle replied, shuddering dramatically.

Betty just shook her head. “You’re an impossible case, you know that?”

“And proud of it,” Michelle said smugly.

Betty looked like she was about to make another retort, but she was cut off by the long, drawn-out blowing of a herald’s horn. 

Michelle jumped off her window seat, exchanging a “huh?” look with her handmaiden.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Betty asked.

“No!” Michelle said, jogging over to her balcony and throwing open the doors. “Who do you think it can… _oh.”_

She looked out at the grand entrance of the palace, and suddenly everything made sense.

“Who is it, who is it?” Betty called impatiently, rushing out onto the balcony after her and leaving the dress she was supposed to be folding in a muddled heap on the bed.

Michelle pointed, not even bothering to hide the twist of disgust on her lips. “It’s Stark.”

Betty clapped her hands over her mouth. “Tony Stark? As in Iron Man? That Stark?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Michelle said, returning to her room with a shake of her head. “Only the richest, showiest superhero in the entire world.”

“I’m sure he’s not that -” Betty began, but she was cut off by Michelle’s door banging open. (Betty seemed to be getting cut off a lot today, Michelle mused as she arched her eyebrows with perfect disdain at whoever had so rudely interrupted them.) 

It was Susan, another one of her handmaidens. “Princess Michelle, Princess Michelle!” the girl cried out excitedly. “It’s Mr Stark! He’s here!”

“I had seen,” Michelle acknowledged in an artfully expressionless tone.

Susan was practically bouncing with excitement. “And, oh, Your Highness, he’s brought someone with him. His ward!”

Michelle took a step back. “His what?”

“His _ward,”_ Susan repeated, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Michelle could feel a slow pool of dread building up in her belly. “His ward wouldn’t happen to be another superhero, would he?” she asked carefully.

Susan nodded, almost incandescent with excitement. “Yes, yes, your Highness, he is!” she gushed. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Wonderful,” Michelle repeated with a distinct bite to her words, “is certainly one way of putting it. _Lamentable_ is another.”

Susan’s whole body seemed to deflate, and Michelle instantly felt bad. “I’m sorry, Su,” she said, rubbing her hand across her brow and giving her handmaiden a rare but sincere smile. “I shouldn’t have snapped. It’s not your fault I don’t want to be courted by another superhero.”

“That’s quite all right, Your Highness,” Susan assured her, gaining her excitable glow back again. “I’m sure this one will be different, though!” Leaning close, she said in a conspiratorial whisper, “From what I could see, he’s _very_ handsome. Almost handsome enough to be a male escort!”

Giggling, Susan bobbed a curtsey and skipped out of the room, leaving Michelle shaking her head at her handmaiden’s enthusiasm. Different? She didn’t think so.

Still, she had her duty to attend to, whether she liked it or not.

Hopefully they could get this over with quickly.

Then she remembered her father’s words - _“when your next suitor arrives, you will do your duty to the realm”_ \- and felt the sinking feeling of dread return full force. 

She wouldn’t be able to send this one away so quickly - and even if she _did_ defy her father, she couldn’t risk starting a war with Stark.

Oh, this was just _perfect._

“Are you ready to go meet your prince charming?” Betty asked from the corner of the room, offering Michelle her tiara.

Michelle rolled her eyes. “Prince Charming? More like Superhero Smelly.”

She sighed as she walked over to her handmaiden, letting her settle the tiara on her dark hair. “But I suppose I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Oh, come on, you, there’s no need to be so gloomy!” Betty chided, fixing Michelle with a _look_ as she straightened her dress. “You heard Susan, this one’s a looker!”

“Oh, come on, _you,”_ Michelle echoed her. “You know looks don’t matter to me in any shape, way or form.”

Betty quirked her eyebrows. “Really? Not even in cute, brown-eyed street rat form?”

“Betty!” Michelle complained, slapping her handmaiden’s wrists and feeling her cheeks warm. “That’s not… I never even said…”

“No, you only gushed about his - what was it? _Cute chocolatey eyes_ for a full six minutes,” Betty said drily. “I can read between the lines, you know.”

Michelle spluttered as Betty made the last alterations to her outfit, and for once, she couldn’t come up with a smart reply. 

“Come on, then,” Betty said, relishing in the last word, for once. “Let’s go meet this superhero.”

Michelle was grumbling all the way down to the throne room, and it didn’t help her ill humour that they passed sections of what had to be the most _ridiculous_ pageant of all time on the way. Really, who needed _ninety-five white Persian monkeys?_

And the forty fakirs, the cooks, the bakers, and the birds that warbled on key was _really_ taking it a step too far. 

But that was Stark for you - showy to the last.

And, of course, her father was eating it _up._

“I cannot extend you a warmer welcome, my lord Stark,” her father said, spreading his arms to welcome the superhero into his palace. (Michelle couldn’t help but notice that his wife, the Lady Pepper, looked rather less than impressed with all the show. But that was a thought to pursue at another moment, because Stark was stepping up to speak.) 

“Thank you, thank you,” he said in that trademark arrogantly charming (charming according to Betty, at least) way of his. “As you can see, I’m a few days early to the annual peace talks.”

He spread his arms, gesturing around them, and her father nodded along, eating it up in rapture.

“That would be,” Stark said, “because I would like to officially introduce you to my ward, the hero Spider-Man.”

He stepped aside with a dramatic bow, and a boy - because honestly, he was just a boy - in a flashy red-and-blue suit with black webbed patterns stood forward.

He didn’t seem to notice the step in front of him, though, and tripped over it, nearly falling over it before catching himself with a wildly undignified windmilling of his arms.

 _That,_ Michelle thought drily, _is what you get if you wear a ridiculous mask like that._

The superhero was speaking, and Michelle was convinced that he was blushing bright red under his mask. “Um, greetings, Your Royal Majesty. Your, um, Highness. It’s an honour to meet you.”

That had to be one of the most awkward greetings she had ever heard, and from a superhero, no less. Michelle saw a look of exasperation cross Stark’s face, and she was sure that if they hadn’t been in such formal company, he would have slapped his palm against his forehead.

She felt rather like doing that herself. 

The silence in the court stretched on just long enough to be awkward, and it took Michelle a moment to realise that it was because she was supposed to speak, now.

“Oh,” she said, taking a small step forward and dipping a tiny curtsey. “Indeed, the honour is Agrabah’s… Spider-Man,” she said, sure some kind of grimace must have crossed her face. What a ridiculous name, honestly - almost as bad as Brad the Brilliant!

Spider-Man seemed to remember, belatedly, that he was supposed to have bowed, and tried to do so in one of the most epic failures of the act that Michelle had ever seen. Instead of bending gracefully and rising smoothly to continue the conversation, he snapped his head down awkwardly, moving so fast that he almost toppled over onto his face, only catching himself by virtue of a sudden step forward that almost sent him careening right into Michelle.

She took a sharp step backwards. “Are you quite all right, Your Excellence?” she asked sardonically.

She was sure his cheeks had to be flaming under that mask. “I am fine, Your Highness. The very definition of fine. No-one has ever been more fine than I am right now. In fact, I am positively -”

Michelle saw Stark shaking his head wildly, and Spider-Man finally seemed to get the idea and shut up, rising awkwardly from his bow.

In what was clearly a desperate attempt to salvage the situation, he said, “You look, um, very pretty, Your Highness.”

Michelle couldn’t help herself. “And therefore I have value?”

Her father shot her a _look,_ but she was too annoyed to care. Would her beauty really be all she was ever known for? 

Spider-Man took a step back, and now she was reasonably sure he had gone white. “Oh! No, no, no, I didn’t mean… that is…”

Her father was shooting her death glares that said all too clearly _salvage. the. situation,_ so she plastered on her best fake smile and said, “You may relax, I was merely indulging my humour.”

“Oh,” Spider-Man said, clearly relieved, raising his hand to scratch at his neck in slight embarrassment.

The motion - or rather the _familiarity_ of it - gave Michelle pause. She was sure she had seen someone do exactly that not so long ago - now if she could only remember _where…_

“I’m glad,” Spider-Man said, the material of his mask moving in what would probably denote an awkward smile.

Michelle returned it, albeit in a distinctly chilly fashion. “I must say, the design of your suit is… commendable,” she said, looking him up and down with barely disguised disdain. 

(Some far, _far_ corner of her brain distantly noticed that Susan had been correct, he _was_ quite an attractive specimen. Not that she cared about that, though, of course. Physical attractiveness, as she well knew, was merely a lucky combination of genomes.) 

Spider-Man seemed relieved at the change of topic, however, and turned to look at his benefactor. “Yes, the… the suit. Mr Stark designed it for me, actually, with my specific skill set in mind -”

The whites of his eyes widened comically as he seemed to realise he had said something he shouldn’t.

“What, pray tell,” Michelle asked, “would this specific skill set be?”

Spider-Man swallowed visibly. “Well, uh, I, um, I’m strong, and -”

But Michelle had already zoned him out. Strong. Fantastic. That was just what her father wanted to hear, and just what he believed Agrabah needed.

“Yes, thank you,” she said coolly, cutting him off in the middle of what was probably going to be a detailed explanation of his oh-so-amazing powers. “I am certain we can discuss this at length tonight.”

“T-tonight?” he spluttered, the mask’s eyes going comically wide again. “Wh-what’s happening tonight?”

Michelle allowed herself a superior smile. “You’re clearly not a keen student of your patron’s policy, are you, Mr Spider-Man?”

She was sure he had gone white again. “Uh, I… policy…”

Michelle had no interest in hearing about yet another superhero whose only concerns were his muscular build and the size of his _suit._ “Well, worry not,” she said, with an almost acidic bite in her voice. “I _am_ in fact a keen student of policy.” Deliberately pitching her voice louder that the entire court could hear, she said, “It is traditional for Agrabah to hold a feast in the Lord and Lady Stark’s honour. You will, of course, be the guest of honour.”

Each word tasted like bile in her mouth, but she knew she had to say them. She had no choice, much as it tore her up to admit.

“I, um,” Spider-Man said, his mask’s eyes widening with something she guessed was awe. “Guest of honour! That is such, well, such an honour. Your Royal Highness, I am honoured to be your guest of honour. There never was a superhero more honoured than me. Because I am, you know, a superhero. And honoured.”

Michelle nodded along, trying not to let her internal wince show on her face. “Yes, well,” she said, dipping into a curtsey to indicate her dismissal. “My excitement for the upcoming celebrations is unparalleled.” Unable to keep from cutting him down at least _once,_ she added, “Because I am, as you so eloquently put it, a princess, and excited.”

She was sure she heard the Lord Stark give a snort in the background, of amusement or admiration she couldn’t tell. She was fairly sure it was both.

But she had no interest in staying here a moment longer than what was required. Giving the Stark entourage a last chilly smile, she turned on her heel and walked out of the throne room, the veils of her dress trailing dramatically after her.

_let me share this whole new world with you_

“Oh, come on, Michelle, he wasn’t _that_ awful,” Betty said, combing back her hair into a long, loose braid and adorning it with gold.

Michelle raised her eyebrows at her handmaiden in the mirror. “He was and you know it.”

“All right, so he was a little awkward,” Betty conceded, coming around to tug Michelle’s jade necklace just so. “But you have to admit, it was kind of endearing.”

Michelle huffed, unconvinced. “Endearing. No, it definitely wasn’t that.”

Standing up, she walked up to the window, and whirled around to face Betty again. “Let me tell you what it _was,”_ she said. 

Betty folded her arms, wearing a kind of _well, come on,_ then expression.

“Suspicious,” Michelle said, snapping her fingers. “It was suspicious.”

It was Betty’s turn to look unconvinced. “And why do you say that?” 

“Because it just doesn’t make any _sense,”_ Michelle said, starting to pace up and down in front of her window. “Why would a superhero raised in the House of Stark be so awkward? And why would he forget to bow? Stark is a lot of things, but an idiot is not one of them.”

Betty was still looking unconvinced, but she seemed just a little intrigued, too. “Alright, so what do you think his deal is, then?”

Michelle furrowed her brow. “I just can’t put my finger on it,” she admitted. A slow, deliberate smile spread across her face as a thought struck her. “But I’m going to find out.”

Without giving Betty a second to process it, she marched across her room, flinging open the door and making her way down the corridor.

Betty followed her at a half-run, tugging at her sleeve to get her attention. “Michelle! What are you _doing?”_

“Getting some answers,” Michelle replied decisively, shaking her friend off. Squaring her shoulders, she strode into the dining hall.

“Ah, Michelle,” her father said, and the entire company rose from their seats, offering her respectful nods. Showing off her best regal smile, Michelle made her way to the head of the table and sat down next to Spider-Man.

To her _great_ annoyance, his face was still covered - his mask rolled open just enough so he could eat.

What _was_ his deal? she wondered, not for the first time. Why wouldn’t he show his face? Did he have some kind of debilitating scar, or…

He seemed to anticipate her question, gesturing up at the mask still half-on his face. “I have enhanced senses, and this helps filter it all out so it’s not so unbearable, especially in a crowd as big as this.”

Michelle was nonplussed. That was actually quite a good excuse.

“Well, then,” she said, and picked up her fork to start eating. “I do hope our company doesn’t overwhelm you.”

Not exactly her most biting retort, but it would do for the moment.

The little she could see of Spider-Man’s cheeks turned red. “Oh, uh, no, you couldn’t do that. You’ve been very, uh, welcoming.”

“Agrabah does pride itself on its hospitality,” she said pedantically. 

Truth be told, she was growing more and more frustrated with the mask. Michelle had always prided herself on being observant, and at being good at reading people - but it was so much more _difficult_ if she couldn’t see their faces and eyes properly.

She wondered, suddenly, if that was deliberate on Spider-Man’s part.

“These powers of yours,” she asked, catching him with a bite of food half-way to his mouth. “Are they genetic?”

He lowered his fork awkwardly down to his plate, wincing when it clattered noisily. “Genetic? Uh, oh, no, definitely not.”

“Really?” Michelle asked, deadpan. “Because I’m fairly sure your father has powers.”

Spider-Man practically choked on his food. “F-father! Mr Stark is _not_ my father! I only just met him the other day!”

The eyes on his mask widened in horror when he realised what he had said. “I mean, uh, I just _saw him again_ the other day. Because I… had stuff to do. And so we were separated. For a while.”

Michelle nodded, sure her scepticism bled through into her voice. _“Right.”_

“I mean, I couldn’t have only met him the other day, that would be ridiculous, right?” he asked with a nervous laugh. “What kind of ward only meets their patron a few days before coming to court a princess?”

Michelle’s humour darkened instantly, not only because he had another fairly good point there. So he _was_ here to court her. Fantastic.

“Do you think that I am a trophy to be won, Mr Spider-Man?” she asked him, letting her fork fall to the table with a sharp clatter. “Do you think jewels and riches will impress me? Do you think your _powers_ will?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off sharply before he could. “Because if so, you are _sorely_ mistaken. I am _not_ a trophy to be won. My love is _not_ something you can purchase.”

And, hardly caring that she was creating a scene, she stood up and stormed away from the table, leaving her half-eaten plate of food and a shocked Spider-Man behind her.

She didn’t stop until she reached her bedchamber, sitting down on her bed and slamming her hands down on the mattress in frustration. Was this really the fate she was going to be consigned to? Trapped by rules that were written in stone centuries ago, forced to marry some _idiot_ who thought she was an object up for auction? 

And she had _just_ been starting to think Spider-Man might be a little different, for once. She had _just_ been thinking he actually had an intelligent bone in his body.

Ha.

A soft tapping against her balcony window startled her from her angry thoughts. Surprised, she glanced up - who on _earth_ could have reached the balcony from the _outside,_ while the door was locked? 

Standing up, she made her way slowly to the window, tugging absent-mindedly at her golden bracelet the way she always did when she was thinking.

There, waving sheepishly at her, stood Spider-Man.

Michelle threw up her hands and turned to walk back to her bed, but a renewed tapping against the glass stopped her.

“Hear me out?” Spider-Man seemed to be saying, muffled by the glass. “Please?”

Michelle hesitated in the middle of her bedroom, then muttered something under her breath that a princess was _definitely_ not supposed to know. Marching over, she flung open the door, folding her arms and giving him an exasperated stare.

He fiddled with a black holster on his wrist, awkwardly ducking his head in greeting. “I, um,” he said, “I came to apologise.”

Michelle was taken aback, and pleasantly so. Apologise? A superhero? _Well._

“I was… horribly rude,” he admitted, still fiddling with that thing at his wrist. Michelle realised with a start that it was a habit that was uncannily like how she fiddled with her bracelet, and dropped her hands self-consciously when she realised she was still doing that.

He looked up, and though he was wearing a mask, the sincerity coming off him couldn’t be clearer. “I was so, so wrong,” he said. “You’re not a trophy to be won. No-one is. You deserve just as much respect as Mr Stark does.”

If Michelle had been taken aback before, well now she was quite simply flabbergasted. “I do?” she asked faintly.

He nodded earnestly. “Of course you do. Everyone deserves to be respected, just like everyone deserves to have someone looking out for them.”

Something about the words - or maybe it was the way he _said_ them - tugged at her memory. 

But the thought was gone just before she could follow it to completion.

“I, ah,” she said, turning to Spider-Man in front of her. “I accept your apology.”

It was his turn to look surprised. “You… you do?”

“Yes,” she said, tilting her head to give him a long, considering look. “You really seemed to mean it.”

“Of course I meant it,” he said, and for some reason, Michelle believed him. “But, uh,” he said, raising his hand to his neck - again with the embarrassed tic that seemed so familiar! What _was_ it with him? 

“I’d still like to make it up to you,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice caught her off guard again.

She blinked. “I’m afraid I don’t… how are you planning to make it up to me?”

“Like this,” he said, and she could swear he was grinning under the mask. Giving her a quick salute, he turned and jumped off the balcony.

Clapping her hands over her mouth, Michelle rushed to look over the balcony. “Are you crazy?!?” she yelped. “I didn’t hate you that much!”

A face in a red mask grinned up at her from the side of the building. “Well, that’s good to hear,” he said cheekily, and Michelle almost dropped to her knees in relief.

“How… how are you doing that?” she asked, searching for some sign of a rope, or a pulley, or something that was keeping him against the building.

She could swear his grin widened under the mask. “I’m Spider-Man, remember?”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at her lips despite her best efforts. “All right,” she said. “I’ll play. What’s your grand plan to make it up to me?”

He bent his knees, jumping up and landing lightly on the railing of her balcony. “Well,” he said. “I thought I’d show you around the city a little, because the rumour is that the princess doesn’t get out much.”

Michelle folded her arms, more sceptical than ever now. “And how are you going to do that? Every door is guarded.”

There was something downright cheeky in his voice as he replied, “Who said anything about a door?”

Before Michelle could finish processing what he meant, he was holding out his hand to her. “Do you trust me?” he asked, and something in his voice… it was as though time had slowed right down, and her memory whirled back to that day in the marketplace, to the person who had said those same two words to her with his brown eyes shining earnestly.

If she concentrated hard enough, she could just see those same brown eyes behind his mask.

_Do you trust me?_

She had then, and she did now. 

“Yes,” she said, a slow but genuine smile spreading over her face as she slid her hand into his.

He helped her step up onto the balcony, and before Michelle really knew what was happening, he had wrapped an arm around her waist and jumped.

“Oh… my… are you _crazy?”_ she shrieked as streets and buildings flashed by at a dizzying speed. The branches of a tree whipped past them, narrowly missing her face, and Michelle buried her head in his shoulder as he shot what seemed to be _webs_ at one building and the next, skillfully swinging them through the city.

She raised her head to peek over his shoulder, then yelped and pulled it back as she almost got hit in the face by someone’s frilly knickerbockers. 

But, wait, hang on a second.

Was that… the _sea?_

Michelle had never actually seen it, except as a distant glimmer on the horizon from her balcony, but now here they were, swinging across the docks with the sea - the actual sea - just a few metres away.

She forgot about her terror, she forgot about the high speed, she forgot to calculate the chances of them falling to horrible, painful deaths - her mind flooded with the smell of the salt and sea, the way she could almost taste it on the tip of her tongue.

The breeze whipped through her hair, and she laughed out loud, stretching out her fingers to just-just brush the edges of the waves as Peter swung them in a particularly daring arc right across the sea before looping back into the docks.

This place - all of it - the only way she could think to describe it was as a whole new world. 

Who would have thought a new point of view would change everything? 

When they had swung the length of the docks, Peter took them back into the city central, and Michelle found that what with the last of the ocean breeze still rippling through her hair, and with the salt of the waves on her fingertips, she didn’t even mind the speed and the height.

They landed lightly on the top of the tallest building in Agrabah, and Michelle still felt that light, free feeling coursing through her veins. 

It was, she realised, happiness. 

She was _happy._

She looked out over the city, lights sparkling in all the windows and people’s voices floating up to her, talking and laughing…

And she was _happy._

There was a whole new world here, a dazzling place she had never known. 

It was _beautiful._

Spider-Man - _Peter_ \- had sat down on the edge of the roof, his legs swinging over the edge. When he noticed her glance, he patted the edge of the roof as an invitation for her to sit down next to him. 

She walked slowly over to him, and she really did feel as though she was seeing everything with new eyes as she turned to look at him, carefully sitting down on the roof next to him.

She had been right to think Spider-Man was a different kind of superhero - he was kind, and humble, and sincere.

He was _Peter._

He turned his head to look at her, tilting his head slightly, and the moonlight glittering off the waves behind him formed a dream-like backdrop to the scene. His body was backlit from the light of the full moon, giving him a sort of angel’s glow. 

It was one of the most breathtakingly romantic scenes she had ever experienced.

Except…

The mask, she thought, was decidedly ruining things. 

“Peter,” she said softly, “can I take off your mask?”

“Yeah, of cour -” he started to say, then froze as he realised what she had said. _“Wait.”_

She rolled her eyes, but there was only affection behind it, and she surprised herself when a small smile tugged at her lips. “Yes, I know you’re Peter,” she said, nudging his shoulder gently. 

His mask’s eyes were comically wide. “But… how did you figure it out?” 

“Well,” she said slyly, “you’ll just have to _trust_ me on that.” 

She wanted to see his reaction for herself, and he had _said_ she could, so she carefully lifted the mask off his face.

The brown eyes that Betty had teased her about so much stared back at her, wide and surprised, and Michelle couldn’t have stopped the smile spreading across her face if she had tried. 

“It’s good to see you,” she told him, ducking her head slightly to hide just how much she was smiling.

She saw the look of surprised delight flood Peter’s face, and it only served to make her smile more. “Really?” he asked.

She nodded, letting out a soft chuckle. “Really.” 

“Well, uh,” he said, and she got the distinct feeling that she had short-circuited his brain with the compliment. “Thanks?” 

“No, I’m the one who should be thanking you,” she corrected, knocking her shoulder into his again. “You showed me all of this.” 

He ducked his head, fiddling with the mask in his hands. “Well, you said that your father didn’t let you out much, and -” 

“It’s beautiful,” she interrupted, nodding at the city spread out beneath them. “Really, Peter. Thank you.” 

“I take it I’m forgiven for being an idiot, then?” he asked wryly. 

Michelle grinned, feeling playful and happy as the stars sparkled around them. “Well,” she said, sweeping her hand at the cityscape, “this is one hell of an apology.” 

Peter chuckled. “I’m glad you like it.” He ducked his head, still looking a little ashamed of himself. “I was a real idiot, before.” 

“You were,” Michelle agreed easily. “But you’ve made up for it.” 

“Good,” he said, bobbing his head once in a quick, determined nod. “Because nobody should be treated like they don’t matter.” 

“You should tell that to my father,” Michelle said wryly, dropping the hand that had been gesturing at the city and shaking her head. “He believes that my only worth is who I marry.” 

Peter turned to her, and the _sincerity_ in those brown eyes had her floored. “Well, he’s wrong,” he said firmly. “You’re worth a lot more than that.” 

Michelle gave a slight snort, but her trademark sarcasm died away as she realised he was quite serious. “You mean that?” she asked, truly taken aback.

He nodded. “Of course I mean it.” He chewed his lip, his eyes resting on her, considering. “You’re really smart, and kind, and the people love you. You… you remind me of Lady Pepper.” 

“Lady Pepper?” she asked, not sure why her breath was suddenly catching in her throat like that. “Why?” 

Peter shrugged one shoulder, ducking his gaze awkwardly. “Well, because Lady Pepper’s smart and strong, and she rules the realm.” 

“Rules the…” Michelle gave an incredulous laugh. “Doesn’t Lord Stark rule the realm?” 

Peter’s eyes widened. “Oh, _no,”_ he said, with such emphasis that she couldn’t help but believe him. “Mr Stark protects the realm, yes, but it’s Lady Pepper who rules.” 

“And you think I could be like her?” Michelle asked, still feeling as though someone had snatched the breath out of her chest.

Peter’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you think you could be?” 

“I mean, I…” She shook her head. “I’ve always imagined I could be a good queen, but I don’t know why I thought that.” 

“That’s because you _would_ be a good queen,” Peter said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Agrabah would be lucky to have you.” 

She shook her head slowly, but there was a smile playing on her lips. Peter really was something else.

Was he right, though? _Would_ she be a good queen? 

_She_ had always thought so. But she had never thought anyone, let alone Agrabah, would agree.

And yet… here was Peter, with tell of Lady Pepper, who not only ruled, but was loved for it.

She had always thought her dream would never be acknowledged. But maybe… maybe it was time for new rules to be written into Agrabah’s stone.

Peter cleared his throat, jolting Michelle from her thoughts. “We should, um, we should get back,” he said, and there was something regretful in his tone.

Michelle stood up reluctantly, looking around the moonlit city one last time. “Probably,” she agreed, taking it all in for a last time.

Peter shifted. “If… if you ever wanted to do this again,” he said carefully, “you only have to ask.” 

Michelle could feel her lips tugging up in a smile that was surprisingly shy, for her. “I’d like that,” she said quietly.

Peter held her gaze for just a second too long, and the moment seemed charged. “Good,” he said.

Michelle could feel little shivers going up her spine as he wrapped his arms around her waist again, and it was _ridiculous,_ honestly - but that was just the effect that Peter, and his breathtakingly sincere words, seemed to have on her.

That feeling stayed with her throughout their journey back, and stayed still when he landed them carefully back on her balcony. 

“Well,” he said, wetting his lips with a nervous duck of his head, “that’s you.”

Michelle’s whole body felt off-balance - there were these little tingles on her waist where his hands had been, and her breathing was all unsteady and catching whenever their gazes met.

“Yeah,” she said, and _really,_ why was her heart doing all these funny backflipping kind of things? “This is me.”

Peter gave her an awkward salute, preparing to swing away, but his foot caught on something and he stumbled forward, accidentally catching a hold of Michelle’s waist again to steady himself.

Her breath immediately caught again, and she could feel her heart pounding against her ribcage as their gazes locked. The moment seemed to stretch and stretch, just like that moment in the marketplace, and she felt as though a swarm of butterflies had fluttered up in her stomach, their wings sending tingles through her entire body. 

Peter’s hands were warm on her waist, and when he awkwardly moved to shift them away, she placed her own hands over them. 

This night had been so perfect - there was just the one thing she could do to make it more perfect.

Closing the last little bit of distance between them, she pressed her lips against his in what she had intended to be just a quick kiss - but she ended up lingering, her whole body feeling as though it had exploded into a shower of happy golden sparkles as he kissed her back.

“Goodnight,” Peter said when they broke apart, his voice an octave higher than usual.

“Goodnight,” Michelle replied, biting her lip and failing utterly to stop the smile from spreading across her face as she watched him smile back and swing away.

For once, though, it didn’t bother her.

Tonight had been _magical._

_he faced the galloping hordes, a hundred bad guys with swords_

Peter Parker had never been happier in his life.

First of all, he and Ned now slept in comfortable beds every night, their bellies full with some of the best food he had ever tasted.

Second of all, he and Michelle had kissed. Yes, kissed. For the most part, Peter still couldn’t believe it himself, but when Michelle kept shooting him these secret little smiles at breakfast the next day, he knew it hadn’t been a dream.

And third of all, he had a new suit and the ability to make helping the people of Agrabah into a _profession._

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Ned asked him one day, his brows slightly furrowed.

Peter didn’t even bother to look up from his position kicked back on his luxurious double bed. “What?” he asked lazily.

“Well, you’re going to have to tell Michelle the truth one of these days, aren’t you?” Ned asked, still with that wrinkle in his brow.

Peter sat bolt upright. “Ned, _what?_ I _have_ been telling her the truth.”

Ned shook his head slowly. “No, I mean… about Mr Stark.”

“I am his ward,” Peter said firmly. “That’s the truth.”

“But not the _whole_ truth,” Ned persisted. “You can’t keep telling Michelle you were just in the marketplace that day to… scout out the lay of the land, or whatever nonsense it is you fed her. You have to tell her the truth someday!”

“No, I _don’t,”_ Peter insisted. “I’m a superhero now, and that’s all there is to it.” 

“But don’t you think -” Ned tried again, but Peter cut him off.

“Stop making it sound like I’ve been _lying_ to her, Ned! I’m not a bad person, and just because I left out a few things so she can be happy doesn’t make me one!” He got up and marched over to the door, pretending not to notice Ned staring worriedly after him.

His super-hearing meant he didn’t miss Ned murmuring under his breath, “well, I don’t think she’ll be _happy_ when she finds out you’ve been lying to her.” 

Peter slammed the door shut behind him and practically stormed out of their quarters, nearly crashing into a surprised Mr Stark. “What are _you_ up to, kid?” the superhero asked after he had steadied them both. 

Peter could feel his cheeks reddening already. “Oh, uh, I was just going out on patrol. Helping the people and all that.” 

Mr Stark nodded, and Peter thought he detected a hint of pride in the superhero’s normally arrogant features. “Good kid.” 

But even the glow from Mr Stark’s praise couldn’t distract Peter from his brooding for long, which said something. Ned _wasn’t_ right… was he? 

It _wasn’t_ like he was a bad person - it was just that if Michelle found out the truth, they would have to stop seeing each other. 

He would have to leave Agrabah.

And he couldn’t do that to her! He knew he made her happy, unbelievable as it sometimes was to him - her little smiles whenever she saw him was proof of that.

So, really, it was for her _happiness_ that he had to keep this secret.

Right? 

_It’s not like it’s such a big secret, anyway,_ his subconscious reasoned as he started his normal patrol swing around the city. _I_ am _Mr Stark’s ward now, and I am a superhero. Just because I wasn’t always that way doesn’t change anything._

_But then why,_ asked a niggling little voice that sounded a lot like Ned’s, _are you so determined to keep it a secret from Michelle?_

Peter nearly missed his next shot, and had to shoot three webs to catch himself instead of just the usual one. _Shut up,_ he told himself fiercely.

But the little voice persisted. _If it doesn’t change anything, why are you lying to Michelle?_

“I’m not lying!” Peter almost shouted, causing a flock of pigeons to flutter up in alarm on the building next to him. “I’m just… doing what’s right to keep Michelle happy,” he said in a softer tone of voice. “I don’t want to do anything that might hurt her.” 

_Don’t you think finding out that you lied to her might hurt her?_ the little Ned-like voice in his head pointed out.

“She won’t find out,” Peter said firmly. “I’m a superhero, and that’s that.” 

The voice in his head was quiet, but Peter couldn’t tell if it was because he had reasoned it away or just from resignation.

He told himself to ignore it - what did voices in the back of your head know, anyway? The _voice_ wasn’t the one who got to see Michelle’s small smiles every morning. The _voice_ wasn’t the one who would lose her if she found out the truth.

Peter was so busy rationalising that he nearly mis-shot a web, _again,_ and this time he only barely managed to catch himself on the side of a building.

“Okay, enough,” he told himself sternly. “Concentrate on the patrols.” 

And once he did, things went a lot better.

He saved a cat that had gotten stuck in a tree, much to its owner’s delight, and then he helped a trio of old ladies cross the busy carriageway. 

It wasn’t much different to what he had done as Peter Parker - but then again, it was _entirely_ different, because he was Spider-Man now.

He was a superhero.

“Hey, you’re that Spider-Man guy!” a voice called out as Peter landed neatly on one of the roofs after saving the cat. “The one who’s here to court the princess?” 

Peter felt his chest puff out in pride. “Yeah, that’s me.” 

“You’re my new favourite superhero,” the guy yelled up the building. “Most superheroes are so busy saving the world that they can’t focus on their own cities.” 

Peter shifted a little, uncomfortable with the praise. On the one hand, yes, he was glad he could help his city… but on the other, he _wanted_ to do something big and life-changing.

He _wanted_ to be a proper superhero, like Mr Stark.

Speaking of Mr Stark… hadn’t he promised that Peter could do _more_ as Spider-Man? And yet here he was, still saving cats from trees. 

Maybe it was the conversation with Ned still twisting around in the back of his mind, maybe it was the guy on the ground praising him as his favourite superhero… but there and then, Peter decided that he was done hanging around. If Mr Stark wouldn’t show him the big action, well then Peter would find it himself.

He had a spider-sense for a reason, right? 

Closing his eyes, Peter concentrated harder than he had ever concentrated before, tuning into the sounds and smells of the city. He rifled through them like a deck of cards, searching for the one that stuck out and didn’t belong.

 _There._

Eyes snapping open, Peter jumped to his feet and shot a web at the building across the street, ignoring the guy on the ground’s whooping and cheering. Left at the marketplace, right across Jordan street, shortcut across the spice store’s roof and… aha.

There, in a dank and dreary corner of one of Agrabah’s endless side-streets, stood a group of three guys dressed in black, busily loading a wagon with sacks of what looked like illicit weaponry.

“Hey, guys,” Peter said, landing lightly in the alley behind them. “I don’t think those belong to you. Fancy returning them?” 

The guys all whirled around, and it was only thanks to his spider-sense that Peter managed to avoid getting struck by one of the swords that a guy chucked at him.

“Whoa,” he said, holding up his hands, “easy there. I just want to -” 

The guy didn’t even let him finish - rude. Peter narrowly ducked another three swords, hearing them ring hollowly as they struck the wall behind him.

“That’s enough of that,” he said, aiming with the webshooters Mr Stark had upgraded for him and firing. 

Oh, perfect. Two goons out.

He was just about to start gloating when the third one threw something at him - it looked like a bag of spices - and before Peter had time to react, the thing burst open in his face.

Coughing, Peter wiped at the eyes of his mask, desperately trying to clear them so he could see where the guy had gone. 

He could just-just make out the wagon bouncing down the alley - oh, _no._ It was headed straight for the marketplace.

You didn’t have to be a genius to figure that one out - crowded marketplace + stab-happy criminal = bad. Cursing under his breath, Peter swung after the wagon as fast as he could manage with his vision still half-blinded by orange spice.

“Wait up!” he yelled uselessly after the wagon, but it was too late. 

It was in the marketplace.

People all around were starting to shrink back behind their stalls and into their shops as they saw the wagon careening into the marketplace, stacks of swords and scimitars clattering in its still-open back.

“Wait!” Peter yelled again, cursing as he ran out of buildings to swing onto. 

He would have to do this the hard way.

Landing on the edge of the marketplace, he sprinted into the middle after the wagon, firing his webshooters in an attempt to catch on to the wagon’s wheels.

But he missed, his webs striking the side of one of the stalls instead and sending exotic fruits flying in all directions.

It was pandemonium - people were screaming, dust was flying, and Peter’s enhanced senses were really struggling to cope. And to make things worse, he still had the orange spice on his mask’s eyes.

In the confusion, the black-clad criminal leapt down from the wagon, grabbing a young girl and pressing a scimitar to her neck. “Stop following me,” he snarled at Peter, “or she dies.” 

Peter knew then that he was _way_ out of his depth. His senses were overloading, causing a high whining kind of sound in the back of his head, and he couldn’t steady himself enough to aim at the sword in the man’s hand.

Somebody trying to flee from the marketplace bumped into him from behind, and the criminal, obviously taking this as a threat, raised his scimitar -

The girl’s scream echoed through the marketplace - 

_“No!”_ Peter choked out -

\- and then the black-clad criminal dropped the scimitar as though he had been burned.

“Step away from the girl,” a familiar voice boomed through the marketplace. Along with everyone else, Peter looked up, and saw the familiar red-and-gold figure of Iron Man hovering above them, hand outstretched and pointing threateningly at the criminal. 

The man shoved the girl away and took off at a dead run, but he hadn’t even gotten five metres when Iron Man caught up to him and knocked him out with a resounding punch. 

The marketplace exploded into cheers as Mr Stark heaved the man into his wagon, locking it and snapping his fingers for the city guard to take it away.

Then he turned to Peter.

 _“What,”_ he said, and Peter had never felt lower, “do you think you were doing?”

_read my lips, and come to grips, with reality_

Mr Stark was _furious._ Peter could tell in the way that after that initial outburst in the marketplace, he didn’t say a word the whole way back to the palace.

And even now, a good twenty minutes after the incident, he still hadn’t spoken, instead staring Peter down with such scorn and anger - but most cripplingly, _disappointment_ \- that Peter wanted to crawl away and hide.

When Mr Stark finally did speak, it was that disappointment that was most prominent. “What I don’t understand,” he said, “is why you used the suit _I gave you_ to place an entire market of people in danger.” 

“I didn’t -” Peter tried, but Mr Stark cut him off with a glare.

“You recklessly dived into a situation where you had no idea what was going on - don’t try and argue with me, kid, I know you didn’t scout things out before you confronted those criminals. And as if that’s not bad enough, you then drove an armed and dangerous man into a crowded market, giving him ample victims to take hostage. And then -” he said, voice growing louder to drown out any protests Peter might have tried to make, “you failed to stop him from doing just that and taking a hostage. If I hadn’t arrived when I did, a girl would have _died.”_

Peter swallowed hard, and he could feel his eyes burning. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Sorry isn’t good enough!” Mr Stark exploded. “I gave you this chance because I thought you had promise. I thought you could really be an asset to me, and to your city.” 

“I just wanted to be like you,” Peter said through the burning lump in his throat.

Mr Stark shook his head, that disappointment in his gaze searing right through Peter’s soul. “I wanted you to be better.” 

Before Peter could finish processing the implications of that sentence, Mr Stark was holding out his hand. “The suit, kid,” he said. 

Peter staggered back. “Wh-what?” 

“The suit,” Mr Stark repeated. “If you’ve proven anything today, it’s that you’re not ready to wear it. I’m taking it back, kid.” 

Peter shook his head wildly. “You can’t do that, I’m nothing without that suit!” 

Mr Stark’s gaze was unrelenting. “If you’re nothing without the suit, then you shouldn’t have it.” 

He held out his hand again, and Peter knew he wasn’t going to budge on this.

His one chance at a wish-like life, and he had blown it.

“Will I still be able to see Michelle, at least?” he asked in a small voice once he had changed back into his regular clothes and handed the suit over to Mr Stark.

Mr Stark raised one eyebrow. “Well, I assume she knows who you really are, so that shouldn’t be a problem?” 

Peter felt as though his feet had turned to lead. “No,” he said in a heavy whisper. “She… she doesn’t know. She thinks I’ve always been your ward.” 

Mr Stark shook his head slowly. “Oh, kid,” he said, and if anything, his voice was even _more_ disappointed now. “You should _never_ lie to a woman you love.” 

“I didn’t -” Peter began, but the argument felt hollow, even to him. “I’m so sorry, sir,” he said quietly.

“You shouldn’t be apologising to me,” Mr Stark said, his gaze still heavy on Peter. “You should be apologising to -” 

“Me,” Michelle’s voice said from the doorway, cold and hard.

Peter whirled around, and his heart dropped into his shoes as he saw Michelle standing silhouetted in the doorway, her red dress making her look like an angel of wrath.

“Michelle,” he tried to say, but his voice wouldn’t work.

“So you lied to me?” she asked, her blazing eyes fixed on him. “You told me you were something you’re not?” 

“I…” But what could he say to defend himself? 

“Why?” Michelle asked, her voice soft but so full of _betrayal_ that it tore his heart apart.

“I just…” he swallowed, unable to believe how everything had gone so badly wrong in so little time.

The worst thing was, it was all his fault.

“I just thought I was protecting you,” he offered lamely.

Michelle nodded, but her eyes were hard, the angry tears crystallising in her gaze. “Protecting me,” she echoed. “By _lying_ to me?” 

“I thought -” 

“You thought I wouldn’t care about you if you weren’t a superhero?” Michelle asked bitterly. “You thought I wouldn’t fall in love with you if you didn’t have a suit and money to back you up?” 

Her voice cut like the lash of a whip. “Is that really all you think of me, Peter?” 

When he stared at her, speechless, she continued, her eyes burning with passion. “I don’t _care_ if you’re a superhero or not! That has _never_ mattered to me.” Her voice caught with emotion. “I care about _you,_ Peter, not your muscles or your suit. That’s why I chose you.” 

Her parting words stung like salt rubbed into his wounds. “I thought you were _different.”_

Peter held out his hand helplessly as she turned away, slamming the door behind her as she stormed away.

He buried his head in his hands, unable to even look Mr Stark in the eye. “I’ve screwed up so, so bad,” he whispered.

To his absolute shock, he felt Mr Stark’s hand on his back. “Maybe you can still fix it,” the superhero said quietly.

Peter looked up incredulously. “Didn’t you hear her? She hates me.” He dropped his hands helplessly into his lap. “I messed up, Mr Stark. So bad.” 

“Okay, yeah, you did,” the superhero agreed. Crossing the room, he sat down on the couch next to Peter, waiting for Peter to look up at him before he spoke. 

“But, kid,” he said, and Peter had never heard his voice sound so gentle. “She has a point. The suit has nothing to do with why she chose you, or why I chose you.” 

“We chose you because of who you are beneath the suit. We chose you because you’re kind, and compassionate, and humble, and loyal. We chose you because you’re _Peter.”_

Peter could feel a tentative smile flickering on his lips. “Thanks,” he said softly. “But how -” 

“Let me finish, kid,” Mr Stark said with a good-natured roll of his eyes. _“Thank_ you. Now, what I think happened here is you became so drawn up in being Spider-Man that you forgot to be Peter. Am I right?” 

Peter wanted to disagree, but… he had a point. He _had_ been, well, not himself the last few days.

“Good,” Mr Stark said with a nod. “I’m glad you can see it. And, kid, the thing is, none of us here care about Spider-Man. It’s like your Michelle said - we care about _you.”_

“So what you have to do,” he continued, “is be Peter again. Be the humble, kind and compassionate boy we all care about. Don’t ask yourself what _Spider-Man_ would do - ask yourself what _Peter_ would do. And when you find the answer… well, I think you’ll know what to do then.” 

Giving Peter a small smile, he left the room, the Spider-Man suit still folded up over one arm.

Peter… 

thought.

He thought harder than he had ever thought about anything in his life.

Ned had been _right_ \- he should never have lied to Michelle. He should have told her the truth straight away.

He should have told everyone the truth straight away.

He thought of his Aunt May, and how she always used to tell him, “it’s not about the mistakes you make, Peter. It’s about how you _fix_ those mistakes.” 

Aunt May was gone, but her advice was more important than ever now.

He had made what was probably the biggest mistake of his life - it was time to fix it.

He knew what he had to do.

_I won't be silenced, you can't keep me quiet_

Michelle stormed down the corridors of the palace, her red dress flying out behind her like a train of fire. She was furious, she was disappointed, and above all, she was _hurt._ She had really thought Peter was different - she had let him in, in a way she had never let anyone in before. She had let herself open up to him, and in return… he had _lied_ to her.

She didn’t _care_ that he was just a boy from the marketplace, dammit! She didn’t _care_ that he wasn’t Stark’s son by birth.

She just cared about _him._

But was there even a him anymore? The Peter she cared about - and, dare she say it, the Peter she had fallen in love with - would never have done this. 

Her expression must have been particularly thunderous, because not even her father spoke to her for the duration of dinner. 

There was, she concluded, some truth to the saying _hell hath no fury like a woman scorned._

_But perhaps,_ Michelle thought as she stabbed her potatoes, _it should read_ “hell hath no fury like a woman misled” _instead._

She was just about to retire for the evening when the doors of the dining hall crashed open.

And there, standing silhouetted in the doorway, was Peter - his hair in disarray, and back in his street rat clothing, but _Peter._

Michelle rose, feeling the turmoil of emotions bubble up in her until she couldn’t take it anymore. “What,” she snarled, and her voice was so vicious that her father actually flinched, “are you doing here?”

Peter didn’t give a centimetre, and some deep-down part of her grudgingly respected him for that. “I came to apologise,” he said, looking directly at her.

Michelle folded her arms. “Indeed?” Her voice was colder than ice.

Peter nodded, taking a step forward and speaking loud enough that his voice rang through the entire hall. “I came to apologise to _all_ of you,” he said. 

Michelle’s father frowned. “Daughter, who is this man?” 

But before Michelle could give a scathing answer, Peter was speaking. “Most of you will know me as Spider-Man,” he said. “And that is entirely thanks to Lord Stark.” 

“You see, I was not born into a noble house. I was not chosen at birth to be the ward of the Starks. I was only welcomed into the House of Stark a month ago.” 

A shocked murmur rippled through the dining hall.

“I misled you all,” Peter continued. “But especially you, Princess Michelle. And for that, I cannot apologise enough. I should never have hidden the truth from you - from _any_ of you.” 

He took a deep breath. “Because that truth is, I’m just a street rat from the marketplace. I’m quick and I’m strong, but I’m just a street rat. And I have no right to call myself a superhero. I see that now.” 

Michelle’s father had risen to his feet, a shocked exclamation on his lips, but Peter pressed on.

“All I can do is ask that you all accept my sincerest apologies,” he said. “I thought I could help the people of Agrabah - my people - if I became someone I wasn’t. But I understood today that no matter how good your intentions are, it doesn’t change the fact that you lied to get where you are.” 

“Lying to you all was the biggest mistake of my life,” he finished. “And for that, I am so, _so_ sorry.” 

His eyes had remained fixed on Michelle for the entirety of his speech, and she knew that though he was speaking to the whole court, at heart his words were all for her.

And she… well, she could feel the smallest of smiles pulling at her lips.

 _This_ was the Peter she had fallen in love with. This was the selfless, humble, kind and compassionate hero she loved - the one who would do the right thing no matter what it cost him. He _was_ a hero, even if he didn’t think so.

But before she could open her mouth to say so, her father was speaking. 

“You _vermin,”_ he snarled at Peter, and Michelle had never heard him sound so enraged. “How _dare_ you enter my palace on false pretences? How _dare_ you woo my daughter?” 

Michelle’s smile was quickly fading away, replaced by a slow and boiling fury. _Now_ her father was indignant on her behalf? _He_ was the one who had invited Peter in here, _he_ was the one who had offered Michelle for courtship - and now he was raging at _Peter?_

Peter, who had admittedly made a massive mistake, but who had done so for all the right reasons? 

“Guards!” her father shouted. “Arrest him.” 

Years of _quiet, Michelle_ and _you should not be thinking, Michelle_ and _stay in your place, Michelle_ boiled up in Michelle’s memory. All her life, her father had told her what she could be, and shouted her down when she tried to protest - well, today he had taken it one step too far.

Today she would _not_ be silenced. 

“No,” she said, her voice ringing powerfully through the dining hall. 

Her father turned to her, incredulous. “Excuse me?” 

“No,” Michelle repeated, the cold ring of steel in her voice. “Guards, you will _stand down.”_

Her voice had never sounded more _commanding._

And the guards… stood down.

She had spent too long being shut down, being told that she should be seen and not heard. Today, she would _breathe_ when they tried to suffocate her - she would not let them underestimate her.

Today, she would _not_ go speechless.

“Father,” she said, and her voice rang through the hall, imperative and demanding to be heard. “You will not be sending this man away.” 

He gaped at her. “How _dare_ you speak to your father in that way?” 

“I dare,” Michelle said, “because it is time for this story - these rules - to end. I will never let myself be silenced again. I -” she walked right up to her father, staring directly and unflinchingly into his eyes, “will be the queen of Agrabah.” 

And for the first time in her entire life, he was the one who looked away. 

Michelle turned to the assembled guards and courtiers. “And as your future queen, there is an announcement I would like to make!” 

Striding across the room, she marched up the steps to the dais and stood in front of the throne, speaking loud and clear so her voice rang through the hall. “A hero,” she said, “is not someone who wears a suit and comes to court a princess. A hero is defined by how they help others, and how they always try to do the right thing.” 

“Birth,” she continued, “does not make a hero. Riches do not make a hero. Even powers do not make a hero.” 

“It might sound like I am saying every one of you could be a hero,” she said, making an effort to make eye contact with every man and woman in the hall. “And if you thought that, you would be right. It is time to challenge what we are told is right and true, and to look with our own eyes and decide for ourselves what should be the truth.” 

“Because everyone in this hall can be a hero. Even if you just help one person, that’s enough to make you a hero.” 

“And this man -” she pointed at Peter “- has helped countless people throughout his life, even before he wore the suit of Spider-Man and called himself a superhero. He has stopped thievery in the city, and he has made it his mission to help anyone in trouble.” 

“So by using my own eyes and my own judgement, and by my word as the heir of Agrabah, I declare him a hero.” 

When Michelle finished, there was absolute silence for an electric moment.

Then the entire hall burst into applause. People started cheering left, right and centre, and Michelle was stunned for a moment at the sheer _enthusiasm_ of their response. 

Then she began to smile. 

Walking down from the dais, she crossed the hall until she was standing in front of Peter, who was looking at her with an expression of pure awe.

“Wow,” he said.

She laughed, proud and carefree and so unbelievably _happy._ “So, hero,” she said, nudging his shoulder. “What do you say? Fancy sticking around in Agrabah for a while?” 

“I think after that speech you just gave, _you’re_ the hero,” Peter said, his eyes still wide as he looked at her - but there was a little smile tugging at his lips now, too.

Michelle laughed again, content in the feeling of pride and happiness that flooded through her. “I think I’m happy with being a queen.” 

“A queen _and_ a hero,” Peter said decisively. 

Michelle tilted her head, her laugh settling into a soft smile. “I rather like the sound of that.” 

Peter returned the smile, but a second later he ducked his head. “Michelle, I really am sorry,” he said, and she could hear the absolute sincerity in every syllable. “I should never have lied to you.” 

“You shouldn’t,” she agreed, tipping her head. “But if you hadn’t, I might never have given that speech, and then where would we be?” 

“I’d like to think that the two of us would be alright no matter what happens,” Peter said, looking up to meet her gaze, and Michelle felt as though she had melted into a puddle of happy, golden mush.

Peter took a quick, bolstering breath. “I really like you,” he admitted. 

Michelle rolled her eyes. “Idiot,” she muttered, because really, he was, and really, it was completely unfair that he managed to make her feel this gooey.

She let his eyes widen for just a second before she rolled her eyes again and closed the last bit of distance between them. “I really like you too,” she told him, a smile pulling at her lips as she placed one hand gently on his shoulder.

Peter was grinning as he returned the gesture, resting his hands on her waist. “That’s… wow. I mean… wow! I -” 

“Oh, shut up,” she said, and kissed him.

_shining, shimmering, splendid_

“Michelle Elizabeth Maree of Agrabah, do you swear to govern this realm in justice and in mercy, and to uphold its laws for as long as you shall reign?”

“I swear,” Michelle said solemnly, her voice echoing through the auditorium. 

“Then by the power vested in me in the people, I crown you Michelle, Queen of Agrabah, first of your name!” 

The officiant placed the crown on her head, and Michelle closed her eyes for a moment, then stood up slowly.

The auditorium burst into applause, the crowds outside cheering wildly. Off to the side, Peter flashed her a crooked grin.

Michelle smiled back, and tilted her head slightly to beckon him to come forward. 

“Peter,” she said, taking over from the officiant as he stepped back with a respectful nod. “As Queen of Agrabah, do you swear your fealty to me and to my people? Do you promise to protect us and to withhold our laws for as long as you shall live?” 

“I swear,” he echoed her words from earlier, his expression solemn and serious as befitted the occasion, but the sparkle in his eyes just for her.

Michelle couldn’t help the tiny smile as she gestured for him to stand up, handing him the ceremonial sword that they had found just for this purpose. “Then as my first official act as Queen of Agrabah, I name you Lord Protector of our Realm. Peter,” she paused to offer him her hand, which he took, squeezing it for a second, “you may rise.” 

Hand in hand, they turned to face the people of Agrabah, who had gathered in their thousands in the auditorium that Michelle had specially commanded for this occasion. Well, maybe auditorium was a generous term - this was, after all, still just the marketplace where they had first met, albeit with a roof of domed netting spread across it and the gaps in the walls filled by stylish screens. 

Michelle held tight to Peter’s hand, running her thumb across the wedding band on his finger, and he turned to give her a quick, warm smile.

Here, in the place where everything had begun, they were starting a new chapter in the book of their lives. 

Michelle felt as though they had truly come full circle. 

And she had never been happier. 

_**The End.** _

**Author's Note:**

> Did I grin like an idiot at every single Aladdin lyric I put in here? Why yes, yes I did. 🤣 Thank you very much for reading, guys, and thank you especially for your patience!! 🤗


End file.
